


Ices of Ice

by Blue23Lace



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: M/M, No Spoilers, One Shot, PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR’S NOTE, Short One Shot, hisoillu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue23Lace/pseuds/Blue23Lace
Summary: But his whines were of no help, a company for the ragged against the unbeat, warm against cold, red hue agaisnt pale white, damp against dry; and all the Belated Apologies were no means but only to treasure the Prize of Sins, boundless by time, to make it his; and as he sobbed in hush between the surrounding witnesses, his prince was always there, the Ices of Ice, resting on its eternal lair; and yes indeed, it was his and his forever.
Relationships: Hisoillu - Relationship, Hisoka & Illumi Zoldyck, Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Ices of Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Though vague and implicit, there are some topics in the story that might be unsuitable for some readers. Due to the nature of the fic, I do not want to spoil what the content is about, so please do proceed with caution. Thank you.

Silent prayer, whispers roved through hollow space like a lone nomad wandering across deserted land with not a single soul but winds answering the calls.

He Who Has No Name, That Tameless Heart, or Languished In The Name of Love, forever avid and unsatisfied. Behind his shut eyelids was the shin that had been the most beautiful crimson under his dire fingernails, in which had never not turned back soon into its ivory, undyed, untouched history of any semblance such as human touch. It was azure when night has fallen, oldlace when dawn broke and sun ray glistened through the window sill, but even more so a whitesmoke when it rained and the drops were all wonderful mixtures of ecstasy and pain, alluring him to go in and out and in and out of the Sacred Gate, the Portal of Purified Souls, and his undying love that was not and shall not be surpassed.

  
He can take care of it, oh he can take good care of it alright! Mouth and calf or teeth and palm, there was no paper left untainted, no road untraveled, bit cells and thin hardened hairs were all too familiar, too close to home, to his worships, to God and the universe, to Devils in Hell and Angels in Heaven, if there was so much as a remainder it would be the liver or kidney. Presumably.

Under the evening sky where clouds hung low and air felt heavy, no, his air was heavy; not even sprinting an infinite kilometer nor traversing vast oceans would run the oxygen out of his lungs this swift, guiltless, coarse, his breathing a glitch vacuum succumbing to every last remnant of profanity. Do you like it, now? The man bridged all his desperate vows to the shy earlobes that had no shame, no mercy nor remorse, until perhaps words could not be worded and sighs could no more be sighed. Tell me, do you like it?

  
Ardent flair of his was the pinky in twisted locks, next was the ring and middle and thumb joining, collaborating, dancing in the shades, placid and content. Was it a memory loss that troubled him? He was sure it had been darker than jets but brighter than a sliver halo when casted upon moonlight, a mirror in still waters, jasmine and honey and a baby odour whenever nostrils was buried in the scalp. Had it gone the other way, he might have his hair yanked and loosened in midst of the two sweating arms snaking around his tight neck, telling tales against one’s tongue, and oh how he remembered now; the Longest Tale ever existed, that Sweet and Salty Tale, grazing what was thought to be Canine of Sanity and Gum of Lucidity, and most importantly because neither wanted it to end and watch the finale as the curtain closed. But no, there wasn’t any tale. None. Zero. Nothing.

  
Down from that tale he began to resume the journey, that Lonely Nomad, hand in the Back Garden of Black Rose, lips on the Front Porch of Translucent Snow, playing with time, skating and skiing here and there, surface so sleek and rigid, and to go lower, deeper in the frost, in which the track was branched off into two pathways, equally lambent and luscious, and he was to choose which way would be more worthwhile, left or right, that would bring him closer to the National Burst, Blast of Infinity, for the Pop was ever closer to tip, lava before volcanoes, avalanche before high cliffs.

  
He sang again, that dying man; dying of thirst, of greed, of his possessiveness and all his wants, his dreams, his one and only dream, for he needed not to worry because before him lied his Aurora; King of Eden, Ices of Ice, the Ivory of Truth. His laugh sounded like halted shriek, cry sounded like choked deers, scream sounded like muted jukes on wet and wasted midnights, but all he could hear was himself reciting Please... Please... Will you give me once again that rouge, lively, plush, full, golden lips that could set me ablaze, patient and rushed, deep and shallow, long and brief? But his whines were of no help, a company for the ragged against the unbeat, warm against cold, red hue agaisnt pale white, damp against dry; and all the Belated Apologies were no means but only to treasure the Prize of Sins, boundless by time, to make it his; and as he sobbed in hush between the surrounding witnesses, his prince was always there, the Ices of Ice, resting on its eternal lair; and yes indeed, it was his and his forever.

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is inspired by @e3echo‘s (twitter) beautiful fanart of HisoIllu I stumbled upon last year. The fic is open for any interpretation; but if you are interested to know the real meaning behind the story, feel free to reach me (here or on twitter: @Blue23Lace) and I’d be more than glad to share you my view as the author!


End file.
